


Boxed In

by Forthelore



Category: South Park
Genre: Eric is an asshole, F/F, F/M, Gen, K2 - Freeform, Kenny just wants love, Kyle is coming out, M/M, kyman (secondary)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forthelore/pseuds/Forthelore
Summary: After the summer, Kyle has come to finally accept a part of him that he has been hiding. But he isn't the only one in South Park with issues that follow him around.





	1. Chapter 1

Kyle

Kyle Broflovski stared at his reflection every morning. And every morning he hated the person that stared back at him. A mirror was supposed to reflect the person staring into it, but that wasn’t him inside the mirror. His face was too clear, and his eyes too green. The person in the mirror knew who they were and they were comfortable with it.

But Kyle was never truly comfortable with who he was, so he would pretend. He would pretend he was straight, and would accept Bebe’s invitation to every homecoming dance, but would skip out on the after party by saying he was tired and had some studying to do. When in reality, he went home and curled into a ball of angst and self loathing.

“Bubbie,” Sheila called from down the stairs. Her voice was nasally, high pitched, and slightly congested due to the pollen count in the air at the moment. It screeched in his ears, and every morning, he started to detest it. “C’mon, you’re going to be late if you don’t get going!”

Kyle could hear the thick feet hitting the stairs, one thump at a time. His heart pace picked up just slightly as the thudding came to stop in front of his door. He could have counted the seconds before her hand came down on the door in a gentle knock. Kyle tugged his biggest, baggiest sweater on over his head shoving his feet into his shoes. If he could pretend at school and everywhere else he could pretend at home. He was Kyle Broflovski; South Park’s best unrecognized actor.

Sheila didn’t wait for her son to verbally alert her to his permission. But the fiery mother never had been big on her son’s privacy—at least not since his seventh grade year. Each time Kyle thought of that year, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. The angst at the time had certainly been real, but the way that he had handled everything...well that left some things to be desired.

“Kyle,” His mother pursed her lips together as she glanced her son up and down. He knew that she hated his outfit choices; baggy shirts and sweaters, oversize hoodies that hid the curves and contours of his body—pieces of him that he was self conscious about. “Come on sweety...I’ll drop you off for your first day.”

First day.

Freshman.

Inwardly, Kyle groaned. His friends would be waiting on the front steps for him, ready to talk about their summer and the excitement of their first year of high school. Already, Kyle just wanted it all to end. There was no need, he figured, for him to drag out his misery. His secret was already swallowing him whole, and he hadn’t even known it. 

“It’s not so bad,” Sheila hummed softly tugging the hat off her sons head to brush back his red curls. She had mistaken his silence for nervousness; not the unnecessary twist of anxiety that had coiled in his stomach and waiting to leap out of his throat. It wanted to reach its hands up around her, drag her into his own darkness and shadows. “You’ll be fine, bubbie.” Sheila patted his jacket to his chest, not hiding the grimace as she noted the way his clavicles protruded from his chest. 

“Yeah,” Kyle whispered stepping around her, and rushing down the stair. He tugged his curls into a tight bun at the top of his head and tugged his hat on. The teachers wouldn’t make him take it off, and keeping his hair tied up, meant that it controlled his curls even better. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt like sand paper against the roof of his mouth. But he forced the word out, just barely.

Sheila sighed, tucked a stray strand of hair tightly back into place and followed her son down the stairs. She knew that he was hiding something. It was in the way that he carried himself, but as any good mother would, she waited for him to come to her. There was no need to stress him out more by prying—no matter how much she wanted to know. Teenagers, she had read once in a magazine, were prone to keeping secrets. Especially, if they thought that the secret they were hiding was going to hurt the people closest to them, or change their perspective of who they are as a person.

Of course, this only worsened Sheila’s own anxiety. But she would put that aside, and let Kyle approach it at his own pace. The last time she had pushed to get an answer, Kyle had all but shut down. He had stood from his spot across the living room. Ike spluttered in dismay from his own side of the living room, his cheeks stained with the tears he had shed from the anger and yelling. Kyle had shut down; he had simply walked up the stairs to his room and he didn’t come out for almost a week. Sheila had been so close to calling a psychologist to come out and talk to him through the door. 

But then Kyle had a break through. He had walked out of his bedroom, gone straight to his bathroom, bathed and come down dressed for school. His eyes still hadn’t had that spark, but he was out of his room, and that was a step.

After that, though, the anxiety never left her bosom. It swelled, and broiled, and left her imagining what it was doing to her son.

“Ike! Time to go!” She called as she padded down the stairs. She knew her younger son was a procrastinator; he was too smart for the grade he was in. He had begged Sheila to let him skip a grade, but the mother wasn’t about to let her child miss out on the important parts of his own childhood. He could skip grades later, when he was old enough to understand the prospect.

“Fine,” Ike groaned from the kitchen table. Grade jam from his toast covered his mouth as he sucked at his fingers. “Come on, Ky.” Ike puffed out his cheeks as his brother danced around the kitchen silently. He was a stark contrast to his younger brother. Ike had hit a growth spurt over the break and was now almost as tall as Kyle. He was filling out, where Kyle was staying thin and lanky. Of course, the redhead still had another growth spurt or two to go through, but it rode on his shoulders. 

Kyle sighed brushing a hand through his hair. He glanced up at his mother, weary of the world and exhausted. It had shone on his face, and exposed itself in the way that he talked. He knew that anyone who truly listened to him would find out, all too soon, how much he had dealt with in the past year or so. Even just over the summer, so much had changed. Kyle had grown to figure himself out more than he had ever been previously allowed, and it had proven to be dangerous.

“Have a good day, bubbie,” Sheila hummed softly as she watched her boys tromp out through the door and into the frosty Colorado air. She witnessed the way her son took in a tense breath, and then released it all in an attempt to release himself.

“Thanks, Ma.” Kyle called out sighing heavily as his feet crunched into the snow. He paused momentarily, glancing down at the white frost that gathered around his feet and soaked into his shoes. He felt like he could relate to his feet. They were drowning in a cold uncaring pile of snow; he was doing the same at his school, wasn’t he? He was hiding who he was, pursing his lips, keeping himself shut up. There was no way he could ever allow himself to be properly free, for if he could spread his wings, others would crash and burn. 

“You okay?” Ike questioned rushing by past him to the street. His own feet had been covered in the rubber boots that he had been smart enough to invest in before the official winter hit the town. He had been smart with his money. Kyle had spent his own allowance on books to force himself into over the months of cold.

“Fine,” Kyle sighed softly, dragging his hand over his face as he ripped his eyes from his soggy feet. “Let’s go.” He followed his brother’s footsteps to the street, turning left towards the bus stop. He could see it all in his head. He would arrive, hopes high that perhaps Eric Cartman could keep his mouth shut.

Eric couldn’t.

Kyle would get angry; his face would flush with with it. His eyes would burn and itch later as the veins inside healed. He would continue about his day, taking notes, laughing where appropriate. He would live, but he would be a block of the person he could be. He would scream and shout into the darkness that would wind its thin fingers around his throat.

But he would laugh. If only because it would be expected of him. He would open his mouth, and the laughter would bubble forth, frothing over his lips and falling to the ground with a sickening splat. No one else would notice, because they never did. They would continue about their day, smiling and giggling as if it was all perfectly okay. As if Kyle wasn’t dying little by little. And honestly, that was mostly okay with the redhead. He didn’t want all of the questions that they would aim at him. He didn’t want the confused and worried gaze that Stan would throw at him whenever they passed in the hallway; didn’t want Cartman going easy on his teasing because his jew was falling apart.

“Kyle,” Ike hissed shoving his elbow into his older brother’s side. The elder jumped violently, glaring down into the worried blue eyes of his baby brother. 

“You okay?” Stan pursed his lips staring at the redhead cautiously. Kyle tensed under his gaze and kept his head down. His mind raced for an explanation. He couldn’t very well say why he was so silent. 

“Yeah,” He forced a smile to his lips. He’d have to practice in the mirror to make it look natural. He should have thought of that long before he actually tried to force other’s to believe it. “Yeah, sorry. Just kind of worried about my schedule, is all!”

“Nerd!” Cartman barked from behind Stan. Kyle flinched only slightly, but Stan had caught it. His jaw tightened as he turned on Eric daring him to say something else. 

It was impressive really.

Over the summer, Stan had grown more muscles than he had in the previous summers. Eric had lost a lot of weight. Even Kenny had probably changed in some way physically, but the blonde wasn’t exactly around to confirm or deny just yet. The group probably wouldn’t even see him until they got to school. Kenny typically hopped a ride with a few of the other kids from that side of the tracks. 

“Shut the fuck up, Cartman.” Stan growled out. His protective flair was one of the few things that hadn’t changed about him over the summer. But, Kyle supposed as he glanced at Stan’s bicep, that was something that had basically grown up with him. Ever since they were kids, Stan felt the need to protect his smaller super best friend. It was something that had stuck with them since they were toddlers. “What’s up, Kyle? You look like someone died.” Stan crossed his arms over his chest. The way the lights reflected on his muscles sent butterflies through rippling through his abdomen. They spread their wings in his chest, and fluttered down, leading to a warm sensation gathering well below his belt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!
> 
> Please head this warning, and tread carefully. This chapter, and honestly, all of Kenny's, deals with drugs and drug addiction and how they effect the user and their loved ones. I have first hand experience and am going off of that--my brother is a heroin user, and I am currently using his own experience to get some of Kenny's. If anything pertaining, dealing, or relating to drugs and drug usage unsettles you, please feel free to turn back now. 
> 
> Thank you for understanding,
> 
> Forethelore

Kenny

School was going to blow. Freshman year sucking had been drilled into his head by his older brother since long before he even thought of going to high school. Kevin, Kenny recalled as he tugged his pants up, had whined and complained about the seniors and how hard the classes were almost every day of his Freshman year. But Kenny had prepared himself. He had seen his brother, and seen what his brother had gone through for the first few months before he settled in. 

He shoved his ratty wallet into his back pocket. He had saved up his money over the summer; hid ninety percent of it in his bedroom somewhere and completely forgot where. He would find it later when he cleaned his room out though. He always did a little spring cleaning just after the beginning of school. It was a great way for him to clear his mind of all of the change, and give him room to change into who he was going to be for that year. It was a way to reset himself; hit delete and start over from scratch.

Heaving a sigh, Kenny stretched his shoulders before heading outside to wait with his brother for the group that would take them both to school. Kevin’s friends didn’t mind Kenny hanging out with them as often as he did. Honestly, it had initially surprised the blonde. He had expected jabs and condescending tones because he was a ‘baby’. But, he had grown up, matured over the summer. And by the time that the school year had rolled around again, Kenny had forgotten what it was to be a teenager. By his freshman year, he had forgotten the care free giggling sprees that he and Eric would go on. The whisper wars Stan and Kyle would have late at night during their sleepovers. He had forgotten what it was like to be clean, because Kenny McCormick had become addicted to heroin. 

The first shot was terrifying and rigorous. There had been no initial high, and there had been no warning of when it would really kick in. He had been at a party with his brother and friends when he had been introduced to the white powdery substance. Of course, he had originally thought the powder was crack. Kenny had seen his mother and father snort the powder often enough. But to him, all of it looked the same, and he had no idea how the dealers and users told it apart. 

How did Joe up the road know he was selling heroin and not crack? How did his parents know they were crack heads and not meth heads, or heroin shooters? To him, it could honestly all be taken the same. Then, he had recalled the project that he and Kyle had to do in fourth grade. They had to do research on a particular drug, whichever one the teacher handed out, and put together a presentation.

Kenny didn’t participate as much as he probably should have, but Kyle made sure they got a good grade and that was that. But when Kenny looked in the mirror every morning and saw the track marks growing up his arms, or the bruise from the belt he used to block off the veins so they pumped up...well to say the least he was absolutely disgusted with himself. It only drove him to do it more. Because eventually it would kill him. And he would come back again. He would be clean and sober, there would be no pock marks to show his dirty secret. But it never seemed to last. In a span of two weeks, he had died at least nine times from over dose. Each time, his brother had screamed and sobbed and shaken him. His lips had turned blue, and his eyes had rolled into the back of his head as the world turned topsy turvy, and the floors curved to meet the roof, and his mouth had dried. And everything had always happened at once. 

And then he would wake up. Damien would be standing over him, lips pursed in disappointment, and there was nothing like having Satan’s son disappointed in you. The raven haired male wouldn’t even say anything. He’d simply wave his hand, and pop! Kenny was back in his bed, hands fisting the sheets as his body struggled to comprehend what was going. His lungs would expand and inhale fresh clean air, his chest would ache, and his heart would thud violently in his chest. But his arms would be clean. His need and desire would be wiped clean, and then Kevin would walk in with the devils flower and taunt him.

His summer had been hell, to say the least. 

So when he stepped up to the lunchroom table where his friends were chatting away, he was rather surprised no one had mentioned his absence earlier in the day. He shouldn’t have been. After all, the McCormicks had become the town’s laughing stock. His family had done far too much to embarrass the family name for them to think that anything significant had happened to their friend. 

“Yo,” He yawned out heavily as he allowed himself to collapse into a chair across from a specific red head—who had gotten undeniably hotter over the summer. Shit, since when did Kyle have such pouty fucking lips? He didn’t remember being attracted to the redhead before his Summer of Hell—literally. He would have to make a note and make the joke to Damien later whenever he died again. The kid would surely get a kick out of it. He enjoyed rather dark humor.

“Hey, Kenny.” Kyle hummed quietly, his face shoved into a book splayed out on the table. He didn’t look to be really immersed in the text so much as he was inside his head, but who was Kenny to judge? Not like he was really in a position to preach about talking about their own private problems. That was how he had gotten into the damn situation anyway.

“’Sup!” Stan grinned, his arm draped over Wendy Testaburger—whom glared at him distastefully. It was no secret that she didn’t like Stan’s friends, but he had given her a choice: accept his friends, or lose him. It was the one day that Stan had grown balls and stood up to his possessive girlfriend. The girl had been manipulative since even second grade.

“Not much,” Kenny hummed wringing his fingers together as he glanced at the plates in front of his friends. His stomach growled audibly under his orange parka. No one glanced up, or made any acknowledgment of his hunger. It had been common practice to ignore the way his stomach protested his hunger in grade school. Back then, it had just been part of the routine. But now…

Now it felt as if they didn’t care, and honestly, why should they? Half of the time, Kenny felt like he didn’t really know his friends. And did he? Did he really know his friends?

No, he realized with a tremble. No he didn’t know his friends, and they certainly didn’t know him either. They hadn’t been the ones there when he had his first trip. They hadn’t been there when he had come down, or when he had swore there were bugs crawling under his skin.

In fact, after eighth grade, they had all disappeared over the summer. 

Kenny didn’t want to hold it against him, but the small bubble of something not pleasant bubbled just under his skin, broiling until it was in his stomach.

“Eat,” Someone muttered sliding a full tray of cafeteria food into his vision. Kenny jumped, digging his nails and fingertips into the edge of the table. When his blue eyes finally glanced up, Kyle was diving nose first into his book, no tray in front of him. Stan watched the tray with his lips pursed tightly, as if Kyle giving up his food was something to be worried about.  
But lucky for Kyle, he could afford to miss a meal or two. He had food waiting for him at home, and a mother who was more than willing to cook it. Maybe that was what had made him generous, or maybe Kenny was over thinking it. But he wanted to throw the plate in Kyle’s face out of anger, and jealousy.

Anytime that he placed a lot of thought in his friend’s home life, a rage gurgled inside his belly. It grew to his chest, before it would rip its way out through his throat.

“Eat, Ken.” Kyle hummed, never looking up from his book. His wrist curved to meet his chin as his eyes glanced over the same page for what Kenny took as the hundredth time. But he wasn’t soaking in what the book was telling him. His mind wasn’t its usual absorbent sponge. It frustrated the blonde. Still, his shaky fingers grabbed the fork laid out to the side, and jabbed it into whatever meat the ladies behind the counter had deemed necessary and healthy—no matter how much it looked like sludge. Hell, it probably wasn’t even kosher, which was weird. Kyle hardly ever actually ate the cafeteria food because of his family’s religious beliefs. But, Kenny had noted, Kyle always seemed to have a plate towards the end of school last year. Almost as if he was purchasing it just for Kenny’s sake.

Which was a stupid, and infuriating thought.

Then again, that could have been because of the itching under his skin; because of the nails that were dragging themselves up and down his muscles, demanding the attention that he had given them over the summer. 

And he could. If he desperately wanted to, Kenny knew exactly who he could get the good stuff from at school. There were several students who sold it, and a few of them always had the high quality shit. But was it worth two weeks worth of saved money for a single hit? He could always skip out on his next set of classes and go see Stewart—his parent’s dealer. They always seemed to be okay, and he had a fairly decent reputation. Meaning, that no one had suffered anything other than an overdose on whatever it was he was pushing that day. His fingers itched along his forearm, making sure never to pull up the sleeve of his parka. There was no need to cause a scene. 

Not that his friends would really notice. They hadn’t noticed much before the summer, why should they now?

His muscles tensed under his fingers as he shoved the food into his mouth. It was tasteless and dry, no matter how soupy it seemed on the plate. His throat squeezed tightly on the food that was making its way down his throat. The blonde lurched forward, hand covering his mouth just in case it was going to come up. All color left Stan’s face as the footballer’s own gag reflex kicked in. It had never taken much to get the kid gagging. As a child, it had even been amusing.

All it did now, was serve to aggravate the blonde. Then again, Kenny grunted to himself forcing the food down his gullet just to have it in his stomach for later, it took very little to annoy him lately. 

He had noticed it about mid summer. His attitude had turned from being sunny and positive, to being dark and repressive, and he liked it. He liked being able to understand and see that there is a darker side to life; that there was more to his own life than happiness, accidents, smiles, rebirthing, and laughter. He needed validation for his emotions, and the junk that he was pushing into his own veins was that validation. It gave him emotions and feelings that he had never felt before; made him think clearer, feel harder, and lighter. 

Over the course of his summer, he came to understand his parents so much more. He understood now, why his mother and father had turned their heads from their children. He understood how it could become so all consuming without it even registering in his mind. And that was because it all happened so fast.

It was like the first time he had been hit by a car. 

They were crossing the street, after playing in the snow. Kenny had slipped on black ice in the center of the cross walk. The driver didn’t even notice him as the tires rolled over his neck and spine. It didn’t even stop as his legs twisted and turned under his body until his hips cracked. It w was both full of pain and painless at the same time. It was confusing and absolutely clear. It was unsettling, and disgustingly settling; it was a fraction of a second that explained his entire life. 

One minute, he was Kenny McCormick, South Park’s brightest star. The next, he was Ken McCormick, the addict. K.M, Kevin’s addicted baby brother who could push drugs just as hard as any adult.

In one simple sentence…

Kenneth McCormick was fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

Kyle

Class was far more boring than he had thought possible.

Kyle Broflovski loved to learn, and hold said information within his skull because of the finite theory that followed it. World War II started on September 1, 1939. Hitler was evil. Two plus two equaled four, divided by two, was two. It could run in circles, and still, no matter how many times he ran that circle, the answer was always the same. The only subject that changed with each reaction was science. It was probably the only chance Kyle would take with his education; because he understood all of the written theories and complex ideas. He could look at a paper by Louis Pasteur and comprehend the theory of Biogenesis. He understood that there were asexual reproducers, and sexual reproducers; mitosis and meiosis. 

Kyle could understand all of these complicated ideas, and yet…

And yet he had the hardest time comprehending himself. He currently had a book about Maslow’s self actualization sitting in front of him. The pyramid, with its five different levels, was color coded and looked as if a child had vomited onto it with the color scheme. His eyes had scanned the same page multiple times, but none of the information had settled in. Across from him, scratching rather violently at his arms, Kenny bounced his leg and glanced around at each plate of food.

His pupils were blown, and eyes shiny and glassy. Pursing his lips, Kyle shoved his plate of food over to him, offering only one statement: “Eat.”

The blonde had glanced up at him, as if confused at the sudden appearance of food. He looked as if he had lost fifty percent of his body weight; cheeks sunken in, lips thin and chapped, his ribs probably protruded under his parka. 

Kenny had always been thin, but this was a dangerous level. The boy looked as if he probably hadn’t eaten a proper meal all summer. Which, if Kyle was honest with himself, he probably hadn’t.

It wasn’t as if the group spent a whole lot of time together over the two month period. In fact, Kyle spent his mostly alone, hiding in his room while he tried to come to his own conclusion on who he was. His lips pursed together as he shut the book in frustration. His mind was absolutely refusing to absorb anything from within the pages of the book. It wasn’t helping him as much as it was hindering him. He knew about the pyramid, knew all of the steps he would have to take to become self actualized. But that didn’t mean that he would end up being comfortable with who he was.

But why wasn’t he comfortable being himself?

Why did he have to feel like he was alone? After all, he probably wasn’t. Logically, he knew he wasn’t, but still. Stan had his angsty and goth days early on in life. What if this was all just a phase? Then what would be the point in trying to accept who he was? If it was a phase, and he made a move on someone and was rejected, how would he be able to play it off later?

Then again, what if this wasn’t a phase? What if he really was just attracted to males? Specifically, the strong and overly emotional type. Frustration broiled in his stomach, making its way up to his chest like heart burn.

“I’m a go to class early,” He huffed out shoving himself away from the cafeteria table. Kenny made no motion of recognition. Stan didn’t even bother turning to wave him off, which only seemed to send Kyle’s mood spiraling downward. 

Since arriving at the bus stop that morning, Stan had seemed rather distant, and stand offish. Which, Kyle couldn’t really hold against him. A couple of months away from anyone would make the person feel like they don’t know the other anymore. It was something Kyle should have expected, but he just couldn’t. Perhaps he was reading too far into it though. Perhaps, Stan wasn’t being distant, but he didn’t know how to approach Kyle when he felt like this?

“You okay?” Someone grabbed his arm softly in the hallway. The stuttery voice was smooth with concern, but Kyle simply shrugged it off forcing a smile to his lips. It was something that he was getting better at by the day. 

“I’m fine, thanks Butters.” Kyle hummed softly keeping his eyes glued the wall just behind the blonde teenager. 

“If...If you’re sure...” Butters whispered watching Kyle carefully. The kid was getting better and better at reading people. Over the summer, there had been rumors that Butters and Eric had some kind of a fling. Kyle didn’t know if they were true, but he knew Butters was naive enough to follow the rotund boy without a second thought. Had something changed there? “I...Kyle...” Butters jaw tensed softly as his tongue sought for the words that his mind was configuring. “You’re not alone.” Was all the blonde whispered, his brows drawn taut. His face the epitome of pity, but it wasn’t aimed at Kyle, so much as it was inward.

“I...” Kyle sighed softly dragging his hand through his hair as he glanced towards where the wall met the windows at the east exit. “Thanks...I...Really.” He whispered chancing a glance back at the blonde. The visual of pure hurt and understanding that floated in the blue eyes proved too much. Kyle’s fists clenched by his side as he gritted his teeth. He hated that they would see him differently if he came out with it. He hated that it had happened at all, but Butters understood because he had already been through it.

“Maybe you should go home,” Butters whispered softly. “I-I’ll tell the teachers you were sick.” He nodded, his blonde hair flopping in front of his face softly. It had grown so much over the summer, and honestly, the blonde shag look that Butters was currently sporting did frame his face very well.

If there was one thing that Kyle had learned over his summer it was the following: Butters Stotch was not the excitable, bimbo blonde that he pretended to be. After spending several afternoons alone with the blonde, Kyle had come to realize that Butters was actually pretty damned smart. He played the bimbo because that was the role that he felt he fell into. It was who he had been since he was a child, and no matter how he grew, it was still how people saw him, and he hated it. He hated that they only saw the innocent blonde that didn’t currently spend his afternoons wowing old men on line so he could get money.

That had been an accidental slip. Butters had gotten up to go to the bathroom and his laptop had pinged with a request. The blonde, unfortunately, had it set up so that the request was immediately accepted and left Kyle staring down innocently into the webcam.

Butters had explained it all away, as if it was nothing. But the shame that coated his voice told Kyle enough about how he felt on the subject not to push it.

After that, Butters had completely evolved. He wasn’t someone Kyle would roll his eyes at, because in a sense, Butters understood him more than anyone else at school. They were both locked inside the shells that the common community had locked them. Butters was a fucking genius that was bored and looking for attention; Kyle was gay as shit. The night had quickly gotten interesting, and the fact that Butters didn’t even try to downplay it...was...well. It was something else.

“Thanks...” Kyle whispered throwing a last glance back towards the cafeteria before shouldering his bag higher on his back and making his way towards the exit. He wouldn’t be able to go home, but he could at least head to Stark’s Pond and do some thinking. Nothing too serious. His mother would be over inquisitive if he came home more depressed than he had been. She was already convinced that he was on the suicide radar. 

She hadn’t even tried to hide the help line pamphlet she had left on the living room table. Kyle had been slightly furious, but he couldn’t even bring himself to glare at his mother. She was only doing what she thought was best in her worry. Sheila Broflovski had never been tactful in the way she delivered herself. It was probably part of what had made his father fall in love with his mother. It was all out of endearment.

“I’ll text you the assignments.” Butters hummed softly, glancing at the cafeteria door opening. In an instant, the Butters that had become so close to Kyle disappeared as the goofy grin that every one knew flew to his mouth. “W-well gee! H-hiya Cartman!” Butters waved ecstatically at the brunette that stumbled out of the cafeteria calling something over his shoulder.

Eric glanced at the blonde, rolling his eyes in exasperation. 

Kyle felt sick watching the whole thing. How had Butters been able to maintain himself, and composure when he acted like that? It was disgusting. The little bit of food that Kyle had been able to eat at lunch was quickly making its way back up his throat. The bile burned, sitting just at the back of his throat.

Was that what he was in store for? Was he destined to be stuck in this stupid fucking box that he essentially called his exoskeleton? Even spiders had been able to shed the skin that they outgrew; leaving a dried up carcass in its place while the fresh skin was darker and healthier. When would he be able to shed?

Or was he bound to just rest under the heat lamp that was everyone’s expectations? In a moment of panic, his eyes shot down to his hands that had been dry due to his inability to apply lotion after washing them so often—his mother was a cleanliness nut. There was never anything left laying around her living room, and his room was never to have clutter. How Ike had managed to get away with the amount of mess in his room all the time was far beyond the redhead.

“I-I hope you feel better, Kyle!” Butters waved, nodding towards the exit before rushing back over to Eric. Ever since fourth grade, Butters had basically been glued to the rounder boy’s hip. 

Kyle had asked him about it over the summer, but Butters had quickly flipped the subject away from himself and onto the newest super hero movie that was playing in theaters. He had even managed to bring Mysterion into the conversation; a vigilante that Kyle had almost completely forgotten about.

Then his mind had wandered freely. Mysterion had to hide himself from society for his own safety. Maybe that was why he had decided not to come out to anyone; maybe he needed to protect himself from society so that he wouldn’t come out to a defamed locker, or words spray painted on his house. He wouldn’t exactly put it past South Park to stoop that low.

“Thanks,” Kyle whispered, his voice barely squeezing out of his throat as he waved limply to the blonde. He turned on his heel, his eyes drooping as the anxiety built up. If he wasn’t careful, his world would start to tilt and twirl in the school. He would much rather be alone when the attack set in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!
> 
> More mentions of drug use in this chapter. It also mentions a few symptoms of withdrawal, and other drug related medical issues. If this makes you uncomfortable, or harm your recovery progress, please turn back now. This story simply won't be for you.
> 
> Thank you,  
> Forethelore

Kenny

By the last period, the urge was pretty much unbearable. The need to stop the scratching and itching that stained his skin was demanding his full attention. He couldn’t keep his mind on whatever bullshit the teacher was babbling about. Every breath he took felt like too much was going on; like he couldn’t breathe. And because he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. And if he couldn’t think, then how the hell was he supposed to graduate school?

His fingers tapped violently against the desk, as his teeth broke into the wood of his pencil over and over again; just looking for something to bite into. Stan sighed for the umpteenth time beside him, which shouldn’t have annoyed Kenny quite as much as it did. 

“What?” The blonde snapped shoving himself back in his chair as his leg took up bouncing. He knew the twitching was a side effect; that his body had eaten through whatever supply he had shoved in earlier that morning, and was looking for more. The aches and pains were kicking in, but he wouldn’t be able to get a hit until class let out. If he skipped now, he would draw too much attention for his liking. Stan would wonder by later and ask about it; or Cartman would laugh at him after coming about. Luckily, Kyle had checked out at lunch—or in Cartman’s view, had ‘fucked off’ because of something Butters had said. But Kenny didn’t believe that for one second.

Kyle Broflovski was far too complicated of a person to just up and leave. As far as Kenny could recall, the redhead only skipped school when he had a lot of thinking to do, and couldn’t be bothered to actually learn any of the subjects. Not that he didn’t already know them backwards and forwards. Kenny was pretty sure he was just in high school as a formality. Lord knows Ike was planning to skip as many grades as he possibly could. Being smart just seemed to run in the family. 

Kenny, however, always faced his problems head on and without a second thought. Like the first time he pressed the needle to the nape of his elbow. Or the first time he had stared in the mirror and noted the blue lips and ghost like complexion staring back.

His first overdose had been absolutely terrifying. His stomach felt like it was cramping, while at the same time his world was moving as slow as a snail—literal snail’s pace. His pupils had almost ceased to exist; small black dots barely noticeable in his reflection. He noted that his heart seemed as if it was struggling to beat along, and instead of feeling hyped and like he was floating, he felt absolutely exhausted.

It wasn’t long after that, he had collapsed and visited Damien.

That was the first time that the son of Satan looked absolutely disappointed in him. He didn’t even say anything to the blonde before he sent him back with a wave of his hand. 

But that only seemed to make the problem worst.

“Dude,” Stan hissed shoving Kenny’s knee away from the base of the table. His notes were jagged and stuttery from where Kenny’s knee had jarred Stan’s pencil. “Calm the fuck down.” Stan grumbled brushing a hand over his face. He looked as if he had aged twenty years in less than ten minutes. And for some reason, that terrified Kenny.

His heart began to pick up pace as he watched the slight wrinkling around his friends eyes. Bubbling panic forced its way up his throat, and Kenny decided to use it to his advantage.

“I’m gonna throw up,” He wheezed grabbing his backpack and racing out of the classroom. The teacher didn’t even offer him a second glance as he raced down the halls of the school and out onto the quad. He made it to the tree line before the bile exploded from his lips; whatever he had eaten for lunch made a reappearance in the form a disgusting mixture of bile and mush.

His body shuddered and shivered as he stared at the sickness in front of him. Images of his first over dose still flashed behind his eyes, and all Kenny could think about was forgetting.

Tears built up just behind his eyes as he debated internally about going to his dealer. At least, if he did, he would be able to forget and feel good for just a little bit. But was it worth seeing the disappointed look on Damien’s (his only friend) face when ever he crashed into the hard ground of hell? 

Maybe.

He pursed his lip frustrated that he could neither confirm nor deny his need for the liquid gold that he had become so damned dependent on. Hell, if he had a real friend, he probably wouldn’t have had to hang out with his brother. If Stan, or Cartman, or Kyle had been there for him during the summer, he wouldn’t have had to get addicted. He need someone to blame this on, and if he blamed his brother well...it was different when you had to live with the reason you got addicted.

But what he really wanted to avoid was his own part. He didn’t want to remember that he was the one who had shrugged and said ‘why the fuck not’ when Brent had introduced the needle to him. He had been the one to enjoy the high so much that he went looking for it again and again. He had chased it faster and harder than a dog chased its tail.

“Shit,” He keened to himself closing his eyes and forcing himself to move away from the mess. His stomach protest, lurching slightly at the movement. If he wasn’t careful, more of whatever would come up, and this time he didn’t think he’d be able to hold it back. But wold that be a bad thing? Probably. He was already so thin because of the way the junk had made him over the summer. It would put him to the deepest sleep he’d ever been in; left him floating through a space more ethereal than when he traveled back and forth to Hell.

Heaving a sigh, he straightened up slowly. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie; inside his fingers fidgeted with the lighter that he kept on him constantly. After all, there was no telling when he would need his next fix. He could have shot up in the bathroom, or even at lunch. Hell, there was an empty stairwell or two where people wouldn’t blink twice if they saw him overdosed with a needle hanging out of his arm. 

It was part of that wonderful McCormick charm. His mother and father had passed on all of their best attributes; blonde hair, blue eyes, addiction, humor. All of it. But that was him pushing the blame away again. His hands clenched tightly on the lighter as he turned towards the sidewalk. He could give it up if he wanted to. Hell, there had been several times over the summer that he had tried. He’d only got at most twenty four hours; the withdrawal had been absolutely miserable. His bones had ached, he was exhausted the entire time, the nausea was too much and he felt like he was constantly having a heart attack. 

And when doing some research, he realized that it wasn’t even over after that. After the initial withdrawal symptoms passed over, one would go through detox—where his body would crave the drug so much, that it would literally sweat it out of his system. He had read accounts of people dying from it, and oddly enough, that had been what had scared him the most.

Kenny never really thought about his deaths. Simply that he had died, and that he would come back. But it had never been on this level; never been because of something that he had done to himself. Maybe that was why Damien had been so disappointed in him?

It didn’t matter. The blonde whined desperately as he stepped out into the street. It didn’t matter what he really wanted, he had to do something to get himself back under control. 

Kenny McCormick had to get out of his body and head and back out into the real world. He would have--

“Kenny?” A timid voice questioned softly. The blonde jolted a bit, glancing down at the soft, pale hands that had gripped his shoulder lightly. Kyle. He would know the way those knuckles were chapped, and the way the finger tips were always red; as red as his hair. “You okay?”

Kenny pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, glancing up at the teenager in front of him and paused. There was something different about Kyle and the way he was handling the situation. It was in his eyes, and it told Kenny that he could talk to Kyle if he needed to. Because Kyle had always been level headed Broflovski. Ken was pretty sure it was probably even written on his birth certificate in that same manner.

“No,” Kenny whispered as tremors started to take his body. The withdrawal would only get worst, and Kenny hated that he had only been without the drug for about eight hours. “No I’m not,” His voice cracked heavily as he began to glance around desperately. The world felt like it was starting to close in on him, and his chest was tightening and the itching...The fucking bugs that were no doubt underneath his skin and chewing through his veins were becoming too much. “Fuck!” Kenny yelled, shoving the redhead away from him. He didn’t pause when he heard the body hit the snow. He simply let his feet rush him around Stark’s Pond—when had he even gotten there?!--and lead him down the main street of South Park. Back over the railroad tracks and to his own side of town.

Just a few more doors down, and he would have his sweet relief. His hands shoved themselves into his back pocket, as his mind counted the steps. One, two, three, four, five. That much closer. One house down, four to go. 

Then he found himself on the steps of a run down, blue and gray Victorian. Just a few months ago it had been an abandoned house; devoid of life and anything that would make it sparkle. And then Rhett had moved into town. He had basically appeared over night, slipping into the house and taking claim over it like it was a nickel found in a parking lot. He stole lights from a few houses over using several extension chords. Just enough to light up the main level of the house and run his projects.

Kenny’s knuckles rapped violently on the once white door. The paint chipped off with the force, but he needed Rhett to know that he was one hundred percent desperate. He needed him to know and see what he caused. And when Rhett opened the door, that damned fox like smile graced his face and he was proud. Brent was just behind him, passed out on the old ratted couch, his arm out stretched and gone to the world.  
“Come in, come in.” Rhett hummed stepping aside to let the younger male in. “You look like you could use some fun.”

Kenny’s fingers gripped and released his lighter. Just a few seconds of banter, that was all the guy was asking for, but he couldn’t wait. Tears were already building up behind his eyes. The pressure, he was sure, was that close to shoving his eyeballs out of their sockets. 

“Yes,” He whispered, his voice cracking; guilt filling it.

Kenny used to pride himself on being different from his parents. He had never touched a bottle of beer, and never even smoked a cigarette officially until this past summer. And once he had a taste of the nirvana that could be given to him...well…

“Fuck man,” He whispered catching sight of Brent as they made their way around the broken coffee table and boxes used as end tables. “Is he fucking dead?” 

“Not yet,” Rhett hummed softly, loosening the tie that he wore under the expensive looking blazer. “But I think that’s what he’s aiming for. He’s trying to reach that space...”

“His lips are blue...”

“Your lips have been blue before too.”

“Dude, he’s fucking stiff!”

“Rigormortis...”Rhett’s grin seemed itself back onto his face. “You’ll go through it too. Sit down, little McCormick. Let Uncle Rhett hook you up.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle

The cold that washed over him as he landed in the snow was shocking. It flooded his nerves, and dulled his senses. His body told him to stand, but his legs couldn’t seem to get the message.

Kenny had never been one to push or hurt anyone; simply wasn’t in his genes. Hell, even when Cartman had pushed and pushed and prodded at his buttons in elementary school, Kenny had simply laughed it off like it hadn’t hurt him inside. 

And Kyle had never done anything to stop the jabs or jibes. Instead, he simply locked himself inside and declared that the problem was one hundred percent absolutely not his. But that wasn’t true; Kenny was his friend, and by the look of desperation that had been in his eyes, he needed him.

This time Kyle was going to be there.

Which was how Kyle found himself stumbling along behind the blonde as he crossed the tracks, and stormed down the familiar street to an old Victorian. Just outside, Kyle paused staring up at the rather intimidating house. Once upon a time, it was a visual of beauty and wealth. The owners, at one point, had made sure to paint the siding, and that everything was where it was supposed to be. But time had worn on it, just as it had on everyone else in South Park; leaving the house to ruin.

Kenny gave pause at the door only long enough to knock before he rushed in. There were a few rushed questions, and a curse or two from Kyle could hear. But when it all settled down, Kyle rushed in. He didn’t bother rapping his knuckles on the door, because something in his stomach was telling him that there was trouble; something was wrong and it was up to him to make up for all of the wrong that he had done to Kenny.

In front of him, a lecherous man was leering over Kenny who was doing something decisively stupid with his sleeve pulled up tight around his bicep.

“What the fuck, Kenny!” Kyle snapped as he stormed over to the blonde. Kenny jumped a bit glancing up at the redhead before him; and paling. “Are you fucking stupid, dude?!” Kyle slapped the needle from his hand, watching as it slid across the floor and under some box. Dirt and dust bunnies followed in its wake, slipping into the sunlight in little specks. 

“Who are you?” Some drugged out man, with a long goatee, and beady goat eyes sneered from his spot across the room.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Kenny’s voice was high pitched and stressed. He sounded as if he was being squeezed violently from inside out. His pupils were blown; almost covering the entirety of his iris. 

“I’m here because you looked like you needed someone back there.” Kyle reached out grabbing his friends arm. He knew that if Kenny hadn’t wanted to walk with him, he could dig his heels into the ground and refuse to move, and Kyle wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. If only because Kyle wasn’t as strong as the rest of the high school deemed him. So when Kenny followed him willingly back out into the cold snowy downfall of South Park, Kyle was heavily relieved. “Pull up your sleeves.” 

“No, I don’t fucking have to,” Kenny hissed crossing his arms. “You’re not my mo--” Kyle’s arm reached out snatching Kenny’s sleeve and slipping it up before the blonde could even finish his sentence. 

“You’re right. I’m not your mother, but I do fucking care, you dense jackass.” He stared down at the shot marks going up his friends arm and pursed his lips glancing up at his eyes. “You’re coming over to my house. You’re staying the week. Lets go fucking pack your bag.”

“It takes longer than a week to recover...” Kenny growled out glancing back towards the broken down house. “It’s not that easy...”

“Bullshit it’s not, Kenny. It’s a decision that you have to make, but you’re not in your right mind to make it. If I brought you to a hospital, they would try and Baker Act your ass. Go pack your fucking bag. Rehab starts now.” The redhead crossed his arms over his chest, trying to suppress the shiver that ran along his spine. He would contribute it to the cold, and not the desperation that was crawling up his throat because fuck, why couldn’t he have a normal life?

At least, for now, he had someone else’s drama to focus on. It would give him a chance to figure something out, instead of feeling like he was floundering in his own mountain of unsureness. 

“How can you solve my problem, when you can’t even solve your own?” The blonde sneered angrily. “Fucking hell, kike.” 

Kyle clenched his jaw. He had done many a project on drugs, and how they affected a person’s brain—both legal and illegal. He knew, deep down, that Kenny was likely in withdrawal, and it was effecting his capability to think about what was going on and the reality of the situation and what had just left his mouth. Did that make it hurt any less?

Not at all.

Did it slow his palm as he slapped it across the blonde’s cheek?

No.

Kenny’s head whipped to the side as Kyle stared at him. His eyes were alight with rage and disrespect, and god damnit, determination. That was where Sheila had given him her best genes. He, like his mother, was as determined as a bull when it came to certain things. For Sheila, that meant making sure the world knew of her displeasure with local politics. For Kyle, it was his ability to help his friend, and make damn sure tht Eric Cartman was going to be miserable as hell.

“Go. Pack. Your. Bag.” Kyle hissed pointing across the street to his parents house. The blonde, jolted by the sting in his cheek, nodded following his finger towards his own house. Kyle felt slightly bad about the kicked puppy look that Kenny was shooting in every direction, but honestly, it was for the blonde’s best. He thought about calling Stan, and letting him know, but with as distant as he had been since he came back from vacation, Kyle thought better of it.

And it stung. Kyle hated that he felt like he couldn’t talk to Stan. That had never been a problem between the two, but that as a Tomorrow Kyle problem. For now, the redhead had enough on his plate with the middle McCormick.  
“Pack enough for a week. Where’s your brother’s room?” Kyle crossed his arms watching Kenny slip into his room with a silent motion towards some door down the hall. Kyle sighed heavily, knowing well enough where Kevin’s room was. It wasn’t like he had never been inside the house. He just tried to avoid it was much as possible because frankly the uncleanliness of it unnerved him. “I’ll be checking your bag when you’re done too.”

That only earned him an unhappy grunt from the blonde teenager.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kyle rushed down the hall, throwing open the door to Kevin’s room. He didn’t even flinch when he saw the oldest McCormick going down on someone. He had been around for Kevin’s adventurous years, and frankly, it wasn’t the strangest or nastiest thing he had seen in his life time.

“You’re brother is staying with me for a while.” Kyle crossed his arms, being sure to keep his eyes level with the window. “And for god fucking sake, Kevin, at least lock the door.” The oldest grunted, continuing his ministrations. Flashbacks of a few months ago, when Kyle had reason to start questioning who he was, flickered through his mind. A soft rage broiled in his stomach as he turned and slammed the door shut. 

It didn’t even get a reaction.

“What are you packing?” Kyle demanded as he walked back into Kenny’s room.

“My clothes, mom.” Kenny seethed as he shoved cloth after cloth into his bag. 

“Hm,” Kyle sighed keeping a careful eye on each of the items that the blonde pushed into the small bag. 

“Why...” Kenny sighed brushing a thin finger through his hair. “Why did you even fucking follow me?” He turned to the other teen, collapsing onto his bed. He looked exhausted and sick, and worn down; like someone had pushed him into hard labor and never paid him. His cheeks were hollowed, and his clavicles were so bony that they looked skeletal.

“Because...I know what its like to need help and not get it.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest self conciously.

“I don’t need help.” 

“That’s the biggest lie I have ever heard, McCormick, and I’ve heard Eric Cartman tell me he loves me.”

“What?!” Kenny’s head snapped up as if he had been stung by a bee. His eyes were as large as dinner plates, and his face just as shocked. “When the fuck did that happen?!”

“When he had me on all fours begging for more,” Kyle snapped. “Just...fucking pack your bag, yeah?” 

“Jesus...What the fuck happened this summer?” Kenny muttered to himself. 

Kyle exhaled violently through his nose.   
“What happened, indeed.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. It's been hard writing in Kenny's POV when it comes to the withdrawals because I always did my best to avoid my brother when he was going through them. But he did talk to me about some hallucinations and fevers and such. So while it may not be true to everyone, I am going off his experience.

Chapter 6

Kenny

Up, pace the room, down.

Up, pace the room, down.

Up, pace the room, down.

Kyle followed the same pattern every time he moved about his own space—which Kenny was currently taking up abundantly. It wasn’t as if Kyle’s room didn’t have the space for them to both relax comfortably. On the contrary, the space had been plentiful.

What didn’t give them room was the oppressive residue from their situation. The urge and need to have something still bit at Kenny’s skin like fire ants that crawled over their victim; nipping at their skin and leaving red welts. Actually, he was pretty sure that if he glanced at his arms right now, he’d see the damned bugs crawling all over him. It was a part of the high. But he wasn’t technically high right now. Kyle had prevented Rhett from injecting him with what would have surely killed him. The redhead had been rather adamant about letting him know that the entire walk home.

However, he could blame that on the fact that Kyle was actively dodging the Cartman subject. That tid bit of information was still nipping at the back of his mind as he watched the redhead pace for the fifth time in ten minutes. 

“Relax,” He sighed brushing a dirty hand through his hair. “Jesus christ...Just tell your mom I’m staying the night ‘cause my dad slapped me or something. You know she’d fall for that sob story shit.” His voice was rough and dry; his jaw snapped with each word in a way that was alarming and stiff.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Kyle huffed crossing his arms over his chest. The sweater he had been wearing—over sized and the same green as his favorite pair of skinny jeans—curved inwards showing off his lithe frame. It looked fantastically delicious on him, if Kenny could say so himself. 

“Then what’s up?” The blonde groaned softly, leaning back onto the bed as he gave up watching Kyle pace once again. “And take that sweater off. It’s stupid hot in here, and it looks stupid on you.” 

The redhead bristled at the comment, tensing his jaw and arching one of his brows. But he made no move to remove that piece of clothing that Kenny found offensively wonderful. In fact, since he didn’t, Kenny began to wonder what Kyle would look like under the cardigan without his pants on...or his shirt...or any other piece of clothing. What he viewed, was a spectacle to be held.

“Quit with the asshole act,” Kyle snapped collapsing into his computer chair. The plastic creaked under the added weight. “I’ve got other shit than just you going on.”

“Like what, Oh princess?” Kenny knew he was being mean. But he hadn’t seen Kyle the entire summer, and now he decided to show up? Once Kenny had found something that gave him that damned rush, and burned his veins in a way that reminded him he was alive? Who wouldn’t be upset that someone was that fucking selfish? Hell, he didn’t have a right to invade his life suddenly, deeming that whatever he had done was best for Kenny. He didn’t fucking know at all what it was like to be the blonde.

“Fucking Christ, like this stupid paper that I’ve got coming up? I’ve got to keep my grades up for college.” Kyle snapped. There was definitely more to it, the blonde figured, but he didn’t want to push Kyle too far. After all, he had to stay with him until he fell asleep. There was no sense in making him angry before then; he’d be stuck in the same room with him for a few hours.

“Oh jee,” Kenny rolled his eyes heavily. “How worrying.” 

Kyle shot him, probably, the worst glare that he could muster. Kenny huffed, curling into himself and rolling away from the redhead to face the wall.

He didn’t even register when his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

 

The next morning came to him with vomiting and fevers. His body trembled with the need for the liquid that he had so fervently injected into himself. 

Another wave of heat boiled in his abdomen, before his muscles instinctively clenched. He lurched forward, vomitting violently into the porcelain bowl. Kenny’s chest heaved as he tried to suck in a breath. His arms burned violently, and the ants were back with three times the force they had been. 

“Argh,” He growled dragging his nails up and down his arms trying to make the itching stop. Blood began to well up in the injuries that littered his arms. “Hn,” He whispered curling into himself trying to appease his body.

“Stop,” A voice broke through his senses. It was soft and warm, and suddenly everything started to clear up. The toilet came back into view, and the ants started to drop off his arms one at a time. “Breath with me.” A hand grasped his wrist and rested it over something warm and soft and beating through his wrist. 

“Kyle?” Kenny whispered shaking his head as he glanced around the bathroom. The walls were still wavy, and his body was still ridiculously hot and then cold. The fever still raged, but at least the toilet and the bathtub had stopped swirling and moving.

“Yeah, that’s me.” The voice sighed before another movement. He reached for something just behind Kenny. “Keep breathing.” The sink hissed on, water flooding into the bowl before flowing down the drain. Kenny could hear it all, and it did not help with the nausea and anxiety. The ants were starting to come back; crawling over Kyle’s hands, up his arms and across scars that he never would have noticed.

But then the cuts opened up. And blood started to pour out and onto the ground, and the ants started to crawl inside of Kyle. But Kyle wasn’t doing anything.

“Kyle...” Kenny whispered grabbing at the redhead’s arm. “Kyle they’re going to eat you!” He pushed painfully at each ant, doing his best to squash it. He only succeeded in opening up more wounds for the ants to crawl in. Tears sprung to his eyes as he tried desperately to help his friend—not friend? Semi friend? No one deserved to be eaten to death from the inside out by the ants.  
“Kenny.” Kyle grasped the boy’s wrists tightly, jerking them away from his own arms. “Kenny. There are no ants. You’re hallucinating. Look at me.” He waited patiently for the blonde to try and focus himself. He gave him a chance. 

“Look at me,” He whispered again, voice soft and concerned.

“The ants,” Kenny whispered, his voice breathy and panicked. “The ants,” He insisted glancing up into green eyes, and holy shit was that his reflection? He looked wrecked; black bags under his eyes, and his face was sunken in. He looked skeletal and just like all of the addicts he had pointed and laughed at as a child. “Kyle...”

“I know,” Kyle sighed softly tugging the blonde into a light hug. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” His hands rubbed up and down the spiny back of the blonde. “Let’s get you some food first.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope you are all enjoying this! Nothing too bad, just a bit of fluff and some angst.

Chapter 7

Kyle

It was very important that Kyle watch Kenny eat. He wanted to make sure that the blonde was actually putting something of nourishment into his system, and not just eating whatever junk he could get his hands on, which is probably what he had been doing the entire summer.

A ball of guilt knotted itself in his stomach, but he pushed it away. He had larger things to deal with at the moment, and his own personal problems was certainly not one of them.

“How long have you been doing it?” The redhead crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the fork lower just inched from Kenny’s mouth. His own lips pursed in disapproval as it clattered back to the plate.

“All summer?” Kenny sighed heavily brushing his fingers through his hair. It had gotten thin,greasy, and scraggly since the beginning of summer. Looking at him, Kyle couldn’t tell when the last time the blonde had bathed—which meant he was more than due for a shower. “Since mid June at least.”

“Hm,” Kyle clenched his own jaw as images flooded his mind of the once muscular body he had glimpsed whenever Kenny had stayed over before. Of course, back then, he had made sure to keep them to himself.

“So...Cartman, huh?” Kenny glanced up, arching his own set of brows. A challenge. The smirk that filled his face at Kyle’s discomfort was all to uncomfortable, and familiar. The blonde had always been observant; taking notes of conversations held in hushed tones, storing the whispers away for later. So it wasn’t a surprise that he remembered the comment. Kyle had been expecting it to come up eventually. But the amount of malice that it was said with...well it sent disgustingly pleasurable tingles down his spine.

“It was a one time thing.” Kyle ground his teeth as he glared just over Kenny’s head. “I didn’t mean to mention it.”

“Just like with Kevin?” 

Ouch.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Kyle snapped allowing his arms to hug himself. “I’m trying to fucking help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want your fucking Kyle. Maybe I am fucking happy shooting that shit into my arms. Better than taking a dick up my ass.” Kenny leaned back crossing his own arms over his chest. His shoulders pulled back to puff out his chest; the arguing stance the blonde took on when he thought someone was being ridiculously stupid. Like Kyle had been all summer.

But Kyle knew that; he knew that he had made some big mistakes, and that they were changing who he was. At least, he was trying to work through that. He was trying to figure out what to do about it; trying to understand why he enjoyed the pleasures that a man could bring him. Yet, cringe whenever a girl so much as brushes a hand along the seam of his thigh—Bebe had certainly tried.  
“Fuck you,” Kyle whispered as tears welled in his eyes. The kitchen blurred slightly, the floor waved at him from below his feet. But he wasn’t going to run because he had done some research. Sometimes the withdrawals would make a personality change—make them grumpy. The same way a grumpy caffeine addict would calm down once they got their morning coffee; the drugs were the same way. Give him a couple of days, let his system run it out and Kenny will be back to normal.

Or as normal as the blonde had ever been.

“No, Kyle. No. You’ve already been fucked enough.” The blonde sneered glaring at the wall. His finger tips dug into his arms as if he were trying to control himself. And for all Kyle knew, he probably was. 

He knew it wasn’t Kenny’s fault—or at least every documentary he had watched lead him to believe that. Yet, it still didn’t hurt any less. His chin trembled softly, and he could feel his chest tighten as the statement ran through his mind.

Whore.

You like that huh?

Damn, kid. I didn’t think…

Fucking Hell.

Kyle closed his eyes softly, and turned on the ball of his foot towards his front door. He paused, only momentarily debating on grabbing his jacket. Deciding to forgo it, he stepped out onto his front porch slamming the door behind him. 

The redhead paused, glancing out at the white snow around him. His bottom lip quivered as the tears threatened to spill over, but he didn’t want to risk being caught. 

Stark’s Pond.

Stark’s Pond.

Stark’s Pond.

Kyle raced down his drive way, fists clenched aggressively at his side; solely focused on getting down the streets to his favorite bench in the shortest amount of time as possible. Because, fuck. What the hell had he done for that?

He hadn’t spoken to Kenny all summer; but that was on both of them. Kenny hadn’t tried to seek him out, just as Kyle hadn’t sought out the blonde. Then again, Kenny sounded like he blamed Kyle in some part for the position that he found himself in. And yet, Kyle hadn’t been the one to introduce Kyle to the part of him that was, and will, kill him. It was logical and illogical; confusing, yet it made sense. 

“Fucking hell,” He whimpered as he collapsed onto the bench that was becoming more and more familiar. He had spent many a nights during the summer in the exact same spot, thinking the exact same thing. It was a place of delicious silent; so quiet that he could drown himself within his thoughts.

Which is why, when a hand fell onto his shoulders, and concerned blue eyes peered down, it was surprising.

“You okay?” Butters hummed softly, his warm breath ghosting lightly over Kyle’s frozen face. The blonde’s brows were drawn together in a face of concern—which was rather beautiful on him. “You’re freaking freezing dude,” He whispered quickly tugging the scarf from around his neck. 

“I-I’m fine,” Kyle sighed, teeth chattering in the dropping temperatures. “Just thinking.”

“Yea?” Butters allowed himself to collapse beside the redhead. “About what?”

“About the summer...And...And how boxed in I fucking feel. It’s like I’m trapped, and the only way out is to...to explode or something?” Kyle sighed rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck...this isn’t about me. Kenny’s on drugs.”

“Yea...I kind of knew that. I caught him shooting up at a party. He doesn’t want to listen to reason.” Butters sighed softly leaning back. He shoved his hands into the pockets before quickly removing one and grabbing Kyle’s hand. The redhead tensed lightly, watching the movement from the corner of his eye. “You’re going to get hypothermia.” The blonde teased softly as he eased their hands into his pocket. “Kyle...You deserve someone who is going to take care of you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Kenny

Kenny should have left as soon as the door slammed behind the fiery redhead. He should have rushed upstairs, packed his bag, and left. That’s every fiber in his muscles was telling him to do; made the most sense. Why on earth would Kyle be okay keeping him around after what he had said? And did he mean it? Why did it make him angry that Kyle wasn’t a virgin anymore?

Maybe because he was only fifteen? Or was there something else?

The urge for the world to swirl into that dark abyss and let the bright colors take over was almost insurmountable. He had a needle upstairs, he knew that. He had managed to sneak it into his bag when Kyle was looking away; or had he gone down the hall? Honestly, Kenny wasn’t too sure of how everything had happened anymore. His mind was a haze and he just seemed to float through it. Only, every now and then, he would hit a clear patch and he could see that the trees were just trees, and not monsters out to get him.

Heaving a sigh, the blonde stood from the table and donned his parka. He had an apology to give, and he would be damned if he was going to let Kyle stay mad at him. After all, when his mind was clear—during the small fragments of time where Kyle was the one holding his hair back while he spilled his guts over a toilet bowl—the redhead had been the one to save him.

“Fuck,” He whispered grabbing the extra orange jacket that still hung on the frame by the door. It was well worn, and definitely a size or two too big for the blonde. But, Kenny hummed to himself as he eyed the faded K on the inside tag, that didn’t matter. Kenny had gifted him the jacket in eighth grade; his parents had bought him the same one as his grandparents and Kyle had asked every day to borrow the coat because he always conveniently forgot his at home. 

After the first week or so, Kenny had taken to just bringing the extra so he didn’t have to freeze too. It hadn’t made any sense to him at the time. Kyle’s family had the money to buy an extra one if the redhead needed it. It wasn’t like the jacket itself was that expensive; probably bought at the local Wally’s World, or something. And yet, on that last day of class Kyle had practically begged to keep it. He had gone so far as to claim it as the most comfortable jacket as he buried his face into the lapels—and oh fuck.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Shit,” Kenny whispered breathily as it hit him. “Well fuck me alive...” He groaned rushing down the porch steps and towards the frosted road. He caught himself several times as his feet slipped on the black ice that laced the road and hid under the snow.

He had just got his feet under him for the umpteenth time when strong arms grasped his biceps.

“Ken, where you goin’ man?” Stan’s boisterous voice filled his ears. A grin split his face as he glanced at his blonde friend. It had been a while since he had seen the star quarterback up close—namely, eighth grade. The amount of change that he had gone through had been crazy. Muscles were starting to grow in areas that they certainly hadn’t been in before. He was taller; nearly towered over Kenny. He could only imagine he looked standing next to Kyle. And how annoyed Kyle would be when a joke was made. But he had never actually seen it because...fuck the summer had been rough to say the least. “Where’s the fire?”

“Kyle...I gotta...” His teeth chattered as the cold began to sink into his shoes. He hadn’t thought twice about putting on a pair of snow boots. The Broflovski’s were adamant that their children always keep their shoes dry because it made them last longer. As they got older, they had backed off on the rule, but Kyle was always wearing them.

“You gotta get warm first. C’mon, Token and I were going to my house to watch some football! Come join us!” Stan chuckled making sure Kenny would stand on his own without falling on his face before letting him go.

“I’m actually...uh looking for Kyle. He forgot his jacket...” Kenny felt almost stupid holding up the jacket. The cerulean eyes glanced over the jacket, before grimacing a bit. 

“Huh...We just saw him a ways back at Stark’s Pond. He’s with Butters and Eric at the moment.” Stan shrugged calmly. “Come over after you’re done, yeah? I feel like I haven’t see you in forever!”

“I...uh..yea, sure.” Kenny smiled tightly. “I just...gotta get this to Kyle first.” Kenny stepped around Stan and continued with an awkward glance over his shoulder. Something about the situation didn’t sit very well with him. 

“Sure!” Stan chuckled waving as he walked down the street with Token by his side, laughing about something one of them said under their breath. The blonde brushed off the oddness of the entire situation. Stan hadn’t bothered to even acknowledge his existence since the Summer had begun. And, strangely, that didn’t really bother Kenny all that much. He’d had a feeling long before that Stan wouldn’t stick around the group after high school started. He had even come to expect it; waiting for the day that Kyle had his break down so that he could swoop in and comfort him and become the redhead’s new super best friend.

“Right.” Kenny pursed his lips before shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket and stormed towards Stark Pond. No need to let himself think too much. His mind wasn’t a fantastic place to be now, if it ever was. 

But it drew him in, because shit. Why on earth would Kyle keep that ratty and tattered jacket that Kenny had given him? That was stupid, he knew the answer to that. It had hit him like a damned baseball bat, but that didn’t stop him from running the same sentence in his head again and again. It was like watching Kyle pace the room, his hands wringing in anxiety as his feet padded the carpet. Back and forth, back and forth. 

He could understand now, but shit.

He paused only momentarily at a cross walk. Not willing to wait, he rushed across the street, his mind focused for the first time in what seemed like forever. All summer, he had been in a funk. It had seeped into his bones, and gotten into his head and fogged him over because….because why?

Because Kyle had disappeared at the end of the school year? But why?   
What the fuck had caused it? Why couldn’t he remember everything that had happened? He knew it was depression that had lead him towards the parties and his brother and drugs. He knew there was a reason, but his mind couldn’t drudge it up.

“Shit,” He gasped, taking pause to catch his breath.

In the center of the cross walk.

Because of McCormick luck.

Because of that fucking curse.

He heard the wheeze of the engine and the hiss of the breaks.

But he never felt the pain.


End file.
